Altitude
by Aegroto Dum Anima
Summary: Thoughts while driving into the mountains. CH FIVE UP
1. Chapter 1

Altitude  
Chapter One

Disclaimer: These are kind of insulting, aren't they? If they were mine you'd be watching my stuff on TV instead of reading it on the internet.

Author's Note: This does take place after "Skins," but other than a quick reference, it doesn't really matter. I've never been a huge fan of first person, but… here we are. There's a handful of swearing, but if you've ever watched a movie, you've heard it. All reviews, good, bad and ugly are most welcome. These are Sam's thoughts.

Summary: Thoughts while driving into the mountains.

He thinks I'm sleeping – such is an illusion I have absolutely no intention of shattering. All I have to do to allow him to relax somewhat is keep my eyes closed… and ensure I stay awake.

If I sleep, the nightmares will return and he'll worry.

If I refuse to sleep, like I want to, he'll know I'm still having the nightmares and he'll worry.

But if he thinks I'm sleeping peacefully, and I can stay awake without his knowledge, we both win… mostly.

We've been climbing steadily for some time now, Dean taking the corners of the narrow mountain road far more slowly and carefully than he usually would. I know such is for my benefit; he doesn't want me tossed around in the seat lest I 'wake.'

He glances over at me, making sure I'm all right. I never realized how often he checked up on me– has it been like this since we were kids?

Dean turns back to the road, guiding his baby through another curve, tapping his fingers along to the Metallica tune piping from the stereo.

I barely hear Dean's music anymore. I don't hate it nearly so much as I love teasing him about it. Though, I did notice he turned it down as soon as he thought I was drifting off.

The air's getting colder as we climb and I tug my jacket tighter, careful to ensure the motion seems subconscious.

Dean reaches over, cranking the heat. It's such a simple gesture, but one he would never have done had I been 'awake.'

You learn a lot when everyone thinks you're sleeping.

I've already discovered how often Dean checks on me; that he seems to think I'm about to slip through his fingers and be lost. I suppose that's fair; I already left once and I haven't exactly been myself since I've been back.

I also found out he's been taking some kind of pills, keeping the bottle in his pocket that I won't find them. We never stop at a pharmacy, so they can't be prescription…

But I wasn't the only bright one in the family… and chemistry was always Dean's specialty.

Frankly, I don't know which scares me more: that Dean's taking some kind of medication he doesn't want me to know about, or that he's making himself some kind of drug he doesn't want me to know about.

Either way, I desperately want to corner him and demand to know what's going on… But I haven't been able to think of a way to do it without admitting that I'm not sleeping.

And I've learned Dean has his nightmares too. Not every night like I do, but sporadically; though it seems always to be the same.

He'll never admit to it. He'd never admit to anything that troubles him.

But that's Dean. He's always been that way.

He's the rock; nothing fazes him. He just brushes everything off and moves on. I've come to realize how much I need just that: his constant calm collectedness, his strength.

I wonder sometimes if it's hard for him never to let his guard down, to never allow a weakness… But I know he'd have it no other way.

Dean skips the song, checking on me again and I can see the worry in his eyes through my lashes. He's protected me since before I can remember… I hate how much harder I've made it for him as I've grown older.

I went to him for everything when I was young… When I was scared, sad, angry… He kissed away cuts and bruises, chased away things that went bump in the night – both real and imaginary. I cried into his shoulder, held his hand… And Dean always made everything all better.

But as I grew older, it stopped being appropriate for me to crawl under the covers with him or to cling to his waist. And I picked up the Winchester traits: stubbornness, pride…

So I started keeping everything to myself. I refused to let him call me 'Sammy.' I left…

I used to run to him for everything. Now… Now I have my secrets.

But I still count on him to make everything all better… Even if that isn't fair.

Dean sighs and I bite my tongue hard, reminding myself that I'm supposed to be asleep.

I want to tell him about Jess; I want to tell him everything. He wants to know… I'm sure he'll listen… He probably won't even give me grief for instigating a 'chick-flick moment.'

But, shit, what if he blames me? What if he tells me there _was_ something I could have done? I couldn't handle it if Dean thought I was responsible for her death.

What else does he blame me for?

That damned shape shifter… We've put our demons from that one behind us – I can be around Dean without expecting him to strangle the life out of me and he knows I'm not afraid of him. But the questions, the doubt, remain.

I wish I could just look at him and know everything it said was bullshit, that it was simply tormenting me, that it twisted the stolen thoughts and memories into something dark and perverted.

But Dean is so damn good at hiding how he feels.

I peek out through mostly closed eyes, watching him pinch his brow tightly. Dean rolls his shoulders working his way around a campervan.

He's been driving too long. I want to pretend to wake up and offer to take a turn at the wheel, but I know he'll refuse.

He'll smirk and tell me no one else is going to drive his car; probably make some crack about my crashing it through a house. But I know the truth of it in Dean's mind: his Sammy comes first. Sammy needs to rest and, dammit, Sammy is going to… No matter how little sleep Dean actually got the night before, no matter the nightmare he won't admit to.

I shift slightly to relieve a cramp in my leg, Dean's concerned gaze falling on me again. You'd think I was made of glass…

But I can't be angry with him for 'babying' him. He doesn't really… He trusts me, lets me stand on my own… But damned if he's going to let anything happen to me.

He's been my protector since before I was born. I may not be a little kid anymore, but I'm still his little brother.

And he's still my big brother.

He won't kiss away scrapes and bruises, but he'll treat them. He won't let me crawl under his blankets, but he'll sit up all night with me if I can't sleep and need company.

I can still go to him for anything, still count on him to chase away monsters in the night.

He'll make everything all better.

I'd die for him, but he'd never let me.

I hear the windshield wipers come on, though whether against rain or snow, I can't tell. Dean continues doggedly through hairpin bends, humming absently.

What a pair we make. Neither of us really sleep, and we dream horrible things when we do. We can't really trust anyone, save each other, yet we keep such secrets. We insist we're fine and we know we're both lying.

Just a pair of freaks on another deserted highway.

I smirk despite myself and hope Dean didn't notice. I haven't been 'asleep' long enough to assuage his troubles.

He worries about me more than he needs to. But that's my brother… My short-tempered, hot-headed, impatient, curt brother.

He destroyed my chance at a normal life. Gave me everything, took everything away and gave it all back.

It's because of him that I'm hunting again. It's his fault my head is full of even more fucked up stuff than it was before.

He can be rude, callous and cold… a down right asshole when he wants to be.

And damn how I love him

He checks on me again and I know he loves me too.

He'll never say it. In truth, I don't really want him to; it would spoil that calm and solid demeanor I need so badly.

Besides, I know without hearing the words. I know every time he calls me 'Sammy,' every time he slugs me in the arm, every time he shoots some horrible thing off of me.

Every time he assures me that we'll find Dad, though I'm not sure he believes it anymore…

And the road isn't as lonely as it might have been.


	2. Chapter 2

Altitude  
Chapter Two

Disclaimer: Yep, they're mine. But you can borrow them if you like.

Author's note: Thank you all for your reviews. Dean's POV seems the natural progression. For all you folks wondering about the pills: I tried to get an explanation into this chapter, but I just couldn't figure out a logical reason for Dean to be musing over something _he_, obviously, already knows about. However, I had a review mentioning the confrontation that should follow… So, just as soon as I can get that to work how I want it, you'll know.

Again, please do drop a note, good, bad or ugly. These are Dean's thoughts.

He's finally sleeping. Hell, for a while there I thought I was going to have to slip something into that black coffee he's been putting back by the bucketful.

Maybe we've hit that turning point. It's been almost two hours now since he drifted off and his eyes aren't darting around behind his lids, his breaths aren't frantic and horrified. He's just… sleeping.

He slept like a log when we were kids… Well, except for that closet monster fiasco.

I shake my head at the memory, glancing over at Sammy, assuring myself that he's well.

Bloody closet monster. Kids who haven't even reached puberty laugh at the notion and we all believed it was real. Dad gave Sammy a pistol and taught me how to use the shotgun.

Talk about freaks.

I drum my fingers on the wheel, keeping the beat. I love this song. If wouldn't risk waking Sammy, I'd crank it full volume and fill the cold highway with guitar riffs.

There's old snow on the side of the road; we've been climbing since Sammy nodded off. The peaks are dark beneath the overcast sky; ominous.

I hate these mountain roads – not that I can't handle the corners, not that my baby can't handle them…

I hate the cliffs; have hated them ever since I was fourteen and the pickup in front of us skidded off the edge high in the Cascades. No ghosts, no demons, just some asshole behind the wheel who wasn't watching for ice. It was bloody. Two little girls in the back seat. Fucker.

Give me a country road any day. The worst that can happen is you smash through a fence and maybe hit an especially stupid cow that didn't get out of the way.

I ease the brake toward the floor, taking the bend far slower than needed, slower than I usually would even in these damn mountains. The guy behind me's pissed, but he can stuff it. I'm not going to throw Sammy around in the seat so some rich, punk kid can hit the slopes sooner.

Sammy jerks slightly and my eyes snap to the side. Shit, the nightmares must be back…

But he just tugs his jacket closed subconsciously, not waking.

Small miracles. It's still quite warm, but I crank the heat regardless. If he asks, I'll tell him I was cold.

The kid behind us passes way too fast on a double yellow. I check the speedometer – hell, I'm going too fast. I hope we don't come across his wreck a few miles up.

The sky's getting darker. I don't have any problem with the dark – you can't if you're going to be in this business… Though, the things you see on this 'job' sure do encourage such fears.

Such fucked up things.

They'd haunt anyone's dreams. My dreams. Sammy's dreams.

Dammit, I wish he'd just tell me what's bothering him! I know he's having nightmares about Jessica's death…

But that makes sense. Dad had nightmares for quite some time after Mom…

But what the fuck can Sammy blame himself for? That… thing is responsible! And we're going to stop it… Somehow…

Dammit, Sammy! Why won't you tell me? You know you can come to me! You've always been able to! You always _will_ be able to!

Shit! I am so fucking worried about you that _I_ am having nightmares about Jess!

I snatch my hand away from the wheel, skipping the song abruptly – it's suddenly grating on my nerves.

My gaze lingers on my baby brother and I'm doubly glad he's sleeping: I know I didn't quite manage to pull my poker face over the concern.

He must know I'm worried… despite this mask I wear. He's always been able to see straight through it.

He was the only one, though.

I've been perfecting this poker face since I was five.

'_Don't cry, Dean.'_

Dad would be weaving some bullshit and whoever he was talking to would be looking at me, expecting young eyes to betray a lie. But they never did.

'_What good is crying?'_

That was one lesson I really took to heart. I haven't cried since grade school… and even then I made sure I was all alone, where no one could hear me, lights off, door locked.

Never mind that after some of these gigs all I want to do is swerve off the road, scream until I'm hoarse, break everything within reach and bawl like a newborn baby.

That's just not me.

I'd love to hear what a shrink would say about me… About what I'm repressing.

'_Take care of your brother, Dean.'_

The only lesson that's been more important. Not that Dad needed to teach it to me.

I guess all older siblings can be a bit protective. But I've got 'big brother syndrome' bad.

I swore I'd take care of him before he was born. Of course, at the time, I didn't realize just how difficult a job that was going to be, but it makes no difference.

'_Take your brother outside as fast as you can! Now, Dean! Go!'_

I could smell smoke, but I only saw Sammy.

In that moment protecting him changed from defending against school-yard bullies to something inconceivable.

And damned if I was going to let anything happen to him, to my little Sammy. Not on my watch. And it's always my watch.

He ran to me for everything when we were kids. Dad was pleased; he wanted us to rely on each other.

'_Take care of your brother.'_

Every time he cried was a failure – I hadn't prevented whatever prompted his tears. But he was never upset for long once he was safe in 'big brother Dean's' arms.

He trusted me to make everything all better and damned if I wasn't going to.

Damned if I'm not going to now.

If only he'd tell me those secrets…

I find myself sighing despite myself. We never used to keep anything from each other.

I have my secrets. I know he has his. And his are killing him…

I can't make it better if I don't know what I need to fix! Something to do with Jessica… What, though? I've run out of guesses… And something to do with that shape shifting freak of nature…

It said something to him; something he refuses to repeat back to me; something that caused him to look at me so strangely with those sad, dark eyes.

Demons lie. They manipulate. Whatever it said, I hope Sammy remembers that.

At least he's not afraid of me. Even after all we've seen, something like that can shake a guy. Hell, it sure shook me seeing 'myself' strangling him on the rug.

I was almost too late that time…

I pinch the bridge of my nose to stave off a blooming headache, rolling my shoulders to shake off some stress. We've finally reached a passing lane – I can get around this bloody camper.

Quite the job I'm doing protecting him… How many times have I nearly gotten him killed since Dad went missing?

I bet nothing like that happened at school.

He has no idea what seeing his bruises did to me. I told him he could go back to college, not to worry about anything, that I'd find Dad. I guess he could have taken the offer as rejection, that I didn't want him with me…

I know he didn't, though. If he did, he wouldn't be here. Winchester pride…

It was his choice… and I'll never tell him how glad I am he decided to come. The road's been lonely since he left, even with Dad.

Damn, it hurt when he walked out. I guess I understood. But how the hell was I going to protect my baby brother if he was hundreds of miles away?

I look over, concerned, as he shifts in his sleep, relaxing when there's still no sign of nightmares. He'd probably laugh if he knew how often I check up on him.

Damn, Sammy, you have no idea how much you mean to me.

Big brother syndrome… and it's still my watch.

I tell him not to get attached to anyone. That's how I was raised. It's dangerous. Maybe it is lonely… Maybe I _am_ just antisocial.

The only one I ever let myself get close to is you, Sammy.

I feel myself grinning and I start humming along to the tune, not caring that I'm off key. A heavy snow is filling the sky and I flick the wipers on almost subconsciously, easing through a hairpin turn.

I really am sorry he can't have his apple pie life. Though, I don't know if just being Joe College would make him happy either.

It wouldn't be enough for me… Even if I do entertain the idea of giving up hunting sometimes… Sometimes…

There must be a word for people who aren't content no matter what they have… regardless of which option they choose…

Yeah… freaks.

From the corner of my eye, I swear I see Sammy smirk. Maybe he's dreaming after all.

I hope they're good dreams, Sammy… Though, I suppose I should say 'Sam.'

Nah. 'Sam' just sounds wrong. He's always been Sammy. Always will be.

My little Sammy – to hell with him being taller than me now. And what kind of cruel fate decided to give him a growth spurt anyway?

Well, I'm still better looking.

I cast Sammy a quick glance, turning back to the road. It's starting to get pretty slick and I don't intend to take us over a cliff.

I love him; he's my baby brother. I'd die for him. I hope he knows it.

And no matter what, I'm going to protect him. No fucking matter what.

Big brother syndrome. It'll always be my watch.

No matter what the road leads to.


	3. Chapter 3

Altitude  
Chapter Three

Author's Note: The confrontation. I'm happy to be back in third person, even if I'm not completely happy with this scene. After a lot of rewrites, I realized the biggest problem was that these guys have too many issues for one conversation… so some of them got left out. Burn.

Do drop all your notes, good, bad and ugly.

Dean let his breath out, settling heavily in one the simple chairs at the small table. Beyond the window, orange streetlights were full of heavy snow, the soothing, storybook effect of tumbling flakes not reaching the elder Winchester.

He lanced over at his brother, making sure Sam was still asleep. Sighing, he reached into his pocket, fishing out the small bottle he kept hidden.

"What's that, Dean?"

"Shit!" He leapt up startled, whirling on his brother. "Fuck, Sam!" He slipped the bottle away as if it had never appeared. "You're going to give me a heart attack."

The younger pushed himself up, "What is it, Dean?"

"What?" he smirked. "A heart attack? And here I thought you were supposed to be the smart one."

Jaw set, Sam stood. "I'm not messing around." He faced his brother, "What are you taking?"

Dean's eyes narrowed slightly, "Aspirin."

"Yeah?" the younger cocked an eyebrow. "Well, good, 'cause I've had this altitude headache for about an hour now and I could really use…"

"No." Dean stated much too quickly and forcefully.

Sam gave a victorious smirk, "No."

"I thought you were sleeping." The elder snorted, "You didn't sleep one wink in the car, did you?"

"You're trying to change the subject."

"When was the last time you actually slept?"

"What the _fuck_ are you taking?"

"You want to do this, Sam?" Dean demanded, throwing his arms out. " 'Cause if you do, we're going to do it! But remember, I'm not the only one with secrets; and all your shit is coming out too!"

Sam hesitated, breaths falling heavily. Dean was giving him the chance to back away, to leave everything as it was. Maybe, just maybe, he should take it… Hashing out their issues could make things worse between them. And he didn't know if he was ready to reveal his secrets…

The younger didn't know what to do, so he demanded, "You want to do this?"

No hesitation, "I want to know why you can't sleep, yeah."

"And all your shit? Your secrets?"

The elder did hesitate then, but, at length, asked, "Why aren't you sleeping, Sam?"

"What are you taking?"

"We going to play the 'you go first' game?" Dean stalked toward his brother. " 'Cause I always won when we were kids."

Sam faced him, not backing down, "I'm not a little kid anymore."

"Tell me about Jessica."

"I loved her!" Sam spat, shoving his brother hard. "Which is something you will never understand!"

"That doesn't matter," the elder grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, jerking him forward.

"Doesn't matter?" He seized Dean's jacket, gaining better purchase on the lapels than the elder could on Sam's T-shirt. "Of course it matters! Of course it fucking matters!"

"Not right now, it doesn't!" Dean swung him around, "Tell me about your nightmares!"

"You know what I see in them! You were there that night!"

"I do know, Sam! I know because I'm dreaming it too!"

"What?" the younger yanked his jacket hard.

"Dammit, Sam! You've got me so fucking worried that I'm dreaming of your precious sweetheart burning!"

"Don't talk like that!"

"Why not?" Dean shoved him away. "She's dead!"

"Fuck you!" Sam shouted, swinging his fist without thinking.

Dean reacted instinctively, catching the younger's wrist and turning it sharply. Sam grunted, finding himself thrown up against the wall, arm twisted behind him.

"Not bad, little brother." He felt Sam stiffen. "What say we talk about those nightmares now?"

"Get off me!" Sam snarled, trying to jerk away.

"Not until you talk."

"Let me go!" the younger struggled.

"Spill, Sam," Dean demanded keeping him pinned against the wall.

"Dean!" the younger cried, tone changing. "You're breaking my arm!"

"No, I'm not. You know how I'd have to twist it to break it and it ain't like this."

"Please, Dean! Please let me go!"

The elder frowned, "What?"

"Please!" Sam's voice cracked. "Please! Please, Dean! Please, let me go!"

Releasing his brother immediately, Dean took a step back, watching, baffled, as Sam sank to the floor, turning slightly to lean against the wall, eyes closed.

"Sammy?" Dean crouched before his brother, gently taking his shoulders in his hands. "Sam… I'd never hurt you."

"I know…" he breathed. "I know."

"Sam?"

"I'm sorry." The younger blinked his eyes open, "That thing, though… It…"

"The shape shifter?"

Sam nodded, "I'm sorry."

Dean squeezed his brother's shoulders reassuringly, "Sam… what did it say to you?"

"Nothing."

"Sam."

The younger laughed dryly, "It said you had a lot of issues with me."

Dean raised an eyebrow, "I think, at this point, that's a pretty unnecessary statement." He was surprised to see a flash of hurt in the younger man's eyes. "Dude, you're my brother. I'm _supposed_ to have issues with you."

"You're an ass."

"Yeah. But, look, Sam, like it or not, I'm all you got."

For a long moment, the younger sought a reply, opting, in the end, for silence.

"And you're all I got." Dean stood, turning to face the window, back to his brother. "Hell, without you, all I got is a cold highway full of monsters."

Sighing softly, Sam lowered his eyes. He wasn't sure if is brother was being sincere or if he was trying to trick him. The younger suddenly realized how exhausted he was; how tired and strained Dean looked. They could allow everything to slide, except…

"I dreamt about it for days."

Dean looked away from the snow at the soft whisper, "About what?"

"Jess…"

"Sam, you've dreamt about that for weeks."

He shook his head, "Before it happened."

"Sam…" the elder crouched before his brother. "What…"

"Days before it happened, I dreamt it. Every detail. I _knew_ it was going to happen."

"No, Sam. You had a nightmare… nothing more."

"I _saw_ it. I knew…"

"_This_ is why you feel responsible?" he sounded incredulous.

"I knew and I did nothing!"

"Sam," Dean began, quite serious. "Have you ever had a vision before?"

The younger bit his lip, "No."

"A prophetic dream? A divination?"

"No."

"No. We've never come across any evidence of a real, no bullshit physic either, so unless you think you're the first…"

"I don't."

"Sam, you had a nightmare." He laid his hand on his little brother's shoulder, "Something horrible happened to Mom and Dad's told us stories since we were kids. We both had nightmares from those stories. You get this wonderful new girl in your life and out come those damn dreams again…"

He shook his head stubbornly. "I _knew_. I just didn't want to admit to it. I was _done_ hunting. I was out! My fucking pride! I should've…"

"Should've what?"

"I should have at least been there for her!"

"But instead you were out running around with me."

"I don't blame you, man. I really don't." Sam closed his eyes. "I should have been there."

"To do what?"

"I could have stopped it!"

"How?" Dean's eyes flashed. "We've been after this thing for twenty years… and we still don't know what it is or how to kill it."

"I should've, at least, told you when you showed up."

"Great… Then we both could have not been able to do anything together."

Sam couldn't hold his brother's gaze, "I could have warned her."

"Yeah? And how would that have gone? 'Hey, so, I'm actually a demon hunter and spent my childhood ghost busting and killing things everyone thinks are imaginary. Sorry I never told you before, but, hey, I think one of these things is coming after you.' Right…"

Dean shook his head, continuing, "Then she'd have hated you for the lie and thought you were crazy. She would have hated you and she still would have died."

The younger winced, "She might have believed me."

"Okay… Then instead of being happy, she spends her last days in mortal terror… and still dies."

"No…"

"What if you'd been wrong, Sam? You 'warn' her, she thinks you're crazy, she hates you and nothing happens. Then you lose her to a nightmare."

The younger's eyes were wide as they flashed to his brother, silent and pleading.

"You couldn't have done anything Sam. Jessica died-" he saw familiar pain flood the younger's countenance "-but she died loving you. She died happy and loving you. And it does matter."

Sam choked down a sob, squeezing his eyes shut. He took a weak swing, just barely smacking his brother's chest.

"Sammy…" He clasped his brother's shoulders. "It wasn't your fault."

The younger heaved his breath out, dropping his head back against the wall. "You don't blame me?"

"What? Of course not!"

"Hell…" he closed his eyes, keeping perfectly still.

Dean watched him for a long moment, half wondering if Sam had fallen asleep. At length, he shifted around, moving to sit beside his brother, reclining against the wall, looking out to the falling snow.

"Hey," Sam quipped after a time. "I really am a freak, aren't I?"

Dean smirked. "Yeah. Yeh are."

He turned his eyes up to his older brother, "Did you mean what you said the other day?"

"Which?"

"That you're right there beside me?"

Grinning, Dean slid an arm around his brother's shoulders. "All the way, Sammy." He looked back out the streaked window, "All the way."

Sam closed his dry, sore eyes, settling back against the sure weight of his brother's arm about his back. It was still familiar and despite everything, he felt as safe in that moment as he had when he was a frightened five year old and Dean had hugged him.

Sighing, he let his temple fall to his big brother's shoulder, the elder's distant gaze set on the swirling orange of snow beyond the window. Bracing himself, he reached into the pocket of Dean's jacket, snatching the small bottle hidden there.

The elder moved quickly, grasping Sam's wrist pointedly, not gripping it tight enough that he couldn't pull away.

"Dean," he asked softly. "What are these?"

Letting his breath out, the elder turned from the window. His brother was just as clever as he'd feared: Sam leaving the issue until Dean's anger had run its course, his emotions stirred up like chaff. "It's nothing to be concerned about."

"I am concerned." Sam turned dark, sincere eyes up to his brother as Dean reclaimed the bottle from his unresisting fingers. "What are they?"

"Look, Sam," he sighed long and low. "I drive a lot of hours on a lot of uninteresting roads, usually by myself. I gotta do something to keep alert. Why do you think I crank the music so loud?"

"You're making them yourself."

"You can buy 'em anywhere, man."

"But you're not."

"You're so sure?"

The younger nodded toward the pills, "It's an Excedrin bottle. And don't expect me to believe you just kept 'em in there so I wouldn't know; I never see the label 'cause you keep them hidden."

Dean rolled the bottle between his thumb and pointer. "I tried the Wal-Mart brand. These work better."

"They're dangerous?"

"No."

The reply was too quick. "You refused to let me take one."

"Sammy." A little chuckle. "The last thing you need is something to help keep you awake."

"Dean…"

The elder sighed again. "They're a bit… addictive. And I've been getting headaches. But-" he gave Sam's shoulders a squeeze, "-that's probably your fault."

"I don't want you to take them anymore."

"It's not that big a deal, Sam."

"Please."

Dean heaved his breath out, looking down at his brother. They weren't the sort to say 'please.' They took what they wanted; cajoled, bartered or convinced. But even when they were kids, Dean melted whenever Sam said 'please;' caved instantly at the word, no matter if he knew it would end badly.

"You're not on your own anymore," the younger pressed. "I'll get some sleep and I can take a turn at the wheel… Dean… Please."

The elder sighed wearily, turning away from those imploring eyes. He dropped his head against the wall, still rolling the bottle between his fingers. Setting his gaze, he flicked his wrist, tossing it into the waste basket by the door. "Happy?"

Sam grinned smugly, "Yeah."

They fell into silence, Dean content to simply watch the snow, Sam leaning against him like when they were small.

After a time, the younger smirked, "I think somewhere in all this, you said you loved me."

"Is that some secret?" Dean muttered under his breath.

"What?"

"I said 'shut your cake-hole and get some sleep!' "

He laughed, "Jerk."

"Bitch," Dean gave him a hard nudge.

"Hey, asshole," he waited until his brother held his gaze. "I love you too."


	4. Chapter 4

Altitude  
Chapter Four

Author's Note: I never intended this to be a multi-chapter fic, but the reviews I got kept inspiring me. Do drop a line; good, bad or ugly.

Despite the late hour, the sky was bright, low, heavy clouds an orange swathe above the street lights, the air filled with a flurry of tumbling flakes. The rumble of an engine cut out, leaving the only sound in the gentle night the buzzing of the neon sign above the motel.

Slipping out of the driver's seat, Sam drank a long breath of the cool air, tipping his head back, taking a moment to appreciate the feel of fragile ice crystals melting across his eyelids. He sighed, rolling his shoulders. It had been a long couple of days.

Six hours the day before to drive what should have taken two – road conditions had been insanely bad and what with weekend traffic and a five car pileup…

Then that morning they'd driven four hours through snow and ice only to be stopped by a cop who informed them the road was closed due to avalanche. Then four long, grueling hours back. Just over eight stressful, dangerous hours on the road to end up back at the same inn they'd stayed at the night before.

And Dean – Sam sighed again – Dean was falling apart.

He knew there'd be some kind of withdrawal from whatever his brother had been taking. But it was way worse than he'd hoped; worse than he'd expected.

Sam had quickly researched every kind of "pep" pill he could find, so he'd have some preparation… But these were Winchester-brand; they could have had anything in them. Hell, for all he knew, Dean could have been cutting in heroine – though he doubted it.

The first morning had been all right – when Dean's hands trembled but slightly and the headache was only a dull throb.

Now… Now his hands were shaking so badly he could barely keep them crushed against his skull and the word "headache" had lost all meaning, becoming more of a joke than anything.

And that was just what he couldn't help but admit to. Sam didn't like thinking about what Dean could be hiding – the elder was always the sort to endure silently. Hell, he probably wouldn't even have mentioned the headache, save that the pain had become so intense he couldn't see straight and it was simply too dangerous for him to drive.

Sam opened his eyes to the dancing snow. He brother was suffering. For one, brief moment, he'd actually felt guilty for having caused such misery, but he _knew_ he'd done the right thing getting Dean to chuck the pills. If getting off them was this hard…

They must have been dangerous.

Shaking snow from his hair, Sam reached into the back seat, hauling out the heavy bags of Chinese takeout. He'd had to drive all over town to find the place, but just couldn't bare the thought of bringing Dean deep fried grease in a paper wrapper. Not again.

Nudging the door shut with his knee, Sam crossed the parking lot to the room. Taking a deep breath he steeled himself – Dean was probably going to snap at him again. That was all right; he didn't mean it, he couldn't help it.

Turning the knob, he stepped in quietly, "Dean?"

The elder was hunched in one of the chairs, elbows braced on the table, shirtsleeves rolled up, the heels of his hands ground hard against his temples. The coffee pot on the table was empty again. Sam winced; he looked terrible.

"_What?_"

Forcing a grin, the younger kicked the door shut. "I brought dinner."

"Lovely."

Sam ignored his brother's tone. He could handle a cranky Dean. What he couldn't handle was a Dean dead from popping homemade pills – regardless of if he knew what he was doing when he made them.

"How're you doing?"

"Fan-fucking-tastic."

A thousand curt retorts flashed through his mind, but he said none of them. "Here," Sam jostled the bags onto the table. "A break from the Big Mac." He caught Dean's smirk, though the elder kept still in the chair.

Sam took the coffee pot, moving to the dresser to get another perking. Crossing back, he started unpacking the bags, setting the styrofoam containers in the middle of the table.

He bit his lip; Dean really looked horrible. "Here," the younger slid a plastic fork across the table to his brother. "Get some food into you, then you can take some more aspirin."

Dean didn't respond, sitting very still, trembling hands squeezing his skull.

"C'mon, man. You haven't really eaten all day."

"Why don't you just _shut_ the _fuck_ up, Sam?" Dean gritted his teeth, jabbing the heel of his hand into his forehead. "Shit."

The younger had actually jumped when his brother shouted, but let it go. "Well, I'm starving." He dug his own fork into the chow mien, determined.

"Sam…" the elder muttered through clenched teeth. "Look… I appreciate this…"

"I know." He gestured with his fork, "Just eat some while it's still hot, all right?"

Sam gnawed his lip as Dean stretched a shaking hand toward the fork. He stood quickly, retrieving the coffee pot.

"Dammit…"

The younger pretended not to notice the curse, or the trouble his brother was having managing the utensil. He wanted to help him, but wouldn't do that to Dean. Instead, he filled their mugs, leaving the pot on the table. Slipping back into his chair, he scooped up another mouthful of noodles, chewing automatically.

Dean groaned, dropping the fork and pressing both palms over his eyes.

"Headache's bad?" the younger asked sympathetically.

"Just a tickle."

"Dean, _please_ eat something. You shouldn't be taking as much aspirin as you are on an empty stomach."

"You worry about the strangest things, Sammy…"

"Yeah…" the younger scooted the fork closer to his brother again. "Well, Heaven forbid someone actually worries about you…"

"Piss off!"

Sam squared his shoulders; he knew better than to be offended, but it was hard. He picked at the fried rice, "It's good, man. You're missing out."

"I'm not a child!"

The younger wondered if his brother would have taken a swing at him if it wouldn't have involved jostling his head in the process. He'd take a punch if it would grant Dean some relief, but knew it wouldn't.

Sighing, the elder grasped the fork, trying twice to spear a piece of chicken and it was an actual effort to get it to his mouth.

"Good, huh?"

"Look, Sam," Dean set the fork down again. "I'm feeling a little nauseous here…"

A little? The younger bit his lip harder; if his brother was admitting to some discomfort it was bad.

Dean closed his eyes, reaching for the coffee mug, glad Sam hadn't filled it full. Shaking hands struggled to bring it to his lips and he truly wished his head would simply implode and get it over with.

"Fuck, man…" Sam's eyes were somber and earnest. "I can't stand seeing you like this."

Dean jut snorted, clutching at his temples.

"You have any more of those pills?"

"I left them in the trash, Sam."

"Yeah, I know… Do you have another bottle somewhere?"

He didn't reply for a long moment, Sam prompting: "Dean?"

"In the trunk," the elder answered quickly. "But I swear I haven't touched them."

"I'm gonna go get them." Sam stood. "Maybe we should be easing you off those things instead of going cold turkey."

"Sam," he stopped his brother.

"Look, you made this promise to me, so I can let you out of it. This isn't working."

"Sam," his voice was firm. "I take one of those and I'm not going to stop."

"How long have you been taking them?"

Dean looked up at his brother with something akin to a sneer on his face. "Long time, Sam."

The younger inched back toward his chair. "Since I left?"

"Started 'bout a year after…" Dean dropped his voice, speaking into his mug, "Had a year to try everything else…"

Sam felt his heart catch, "What?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing? Dean what did you…" The younger steeled himself, "Alcohol?"

The elder gave a dry laugh that his brother didn't like at all. "Sure. You could start there…" He caught the look on Sam's face and snorted. "Don't worry. Dad caught onto the drinking pretty quick. His twelve step program consisted of shouting that my drunk ass was going to get us both killed and hurling a bottle of Jack out the car window at seventy miles an hour. Pretty effective, actually…"

"Are you… I mean now…"

"A beer now and then is _not_ a drinking problem."

"Okay." He could deal with that. "What else?"

Dean chuckled bitterly. "Name it."

Sam dropped heavily onto the seat, "Dean, I can't even…"

"What? You thought it wouldn't effect me at all when you bailed?"

"I didn't mean…"

"You thought I wouldn't care when you turned your back on me!"

"I didn't turn my back on _you_…"

"No?" Dean demanded, looking up. "I took care of you every damn day of your life! Hell, almost every day of mine! And then you just strolled out! Left me on my own!"

Sam's voice was soft and melancholic, "On your own? What about Dad…"

"No, Sam! You were my backup! My fucking flank! Always were! You knew that!"

"You don't need anyone to watch your back…"

"Shut up, Sam!" he snapped. "I gave you everything I had! And you walked out on it, like it meant nothing!"

"Nothing?" the younger's voice caught. "Nothing… You think it was easy for me to leave?" He squeezed his eyes shut. "Shit… I kept that letter in my pocket for two days before I even had the courage to open it. I didn't even know what I wanted it to say… I mean… yeah, I wanted to get accepted… But if I didn't, at least I wouldn't have anything to worry about."

He shook his head, "Then it was good two weeks before I went to Dad."

"And me? You didn't even tell me!"

"I couldn't tell you!" Sam checked himself, lowering his voice. "I couldn't… I knew Dad would be pissed. I could deal with that. I was used to that. But you… I just couldn't stand the thought of you hating me…"

"Hating you?" Dean pressed the heels of his hands into his forehead, the headache threatening to rip through bone.

The younger sighed, "Dean, you look terrible. Maybe you should just try and get some sleep…"

"I'm fine." He looked to his brother, eyes flashing. "I never hated you, Sam. Never. You left and I was angry and hurt and… I was a lot of things. And I did a lot of fucked up stuff to try and deal with it."

Dean forced his brother to meet his gaze. "But I finally got my head around it. I couldn't take care of you anymore… but that was… all right. Because you were safe. In your boring, Joe College, _normal_ life you were safe."

"Dean, I…"

"And whenever the jobs were real fucked up and Dad and I ended up closer and closer to dead… I was real glad you were out."

"Do you wish I was still out?"

He snorted, "Right."

"You told me I could go back to school."

"Yeah, well, believe it or not, I actually want what's best for your sorry ass!"

"I know." Sam lowered his eyes. "Look, man… I'm not going anywhere."

"No one is. Road's closed."

"That's not what I…"

"I know…"

Sam shifted uncomfortably, "Dean, I'm sorry. But, look, man… I never… never meant to be… abandoning you." He gnawed at his lip. "Neither did Dad."

"What?" he frowned.

"I don't know where Dad is or what he's doing, but he didn't vanish in order to… ditch you."

"Sam…" Dean dropped his face into his hands. "My head hurts too much for this… Where're you getting this from?"

Closing his eyes, the younger sighed, "Shape shifter."

Dean groaned, "That fucking thing…" He rubbed his eyes. "They lie… Demons, spirits, creatures, they lie…"

"I know," Sam looked away. "But maybe it wasn't so far off… You already said I turned my back on you…"

Dean sighed, long and low, clearly hearing the ache in his brother's voice. "But then I figured it out. I understand why you left, Sammy…"

"Really?"

"Yeah… I think so."

"Do _you_ ever think about getting out? Quitting hunting?"

"Nope."

"Never?"

"Sometimes."

"Sometimes…" Sam smirked.

"Hey, something comes close to tearing your heart out and, yeah, you're gonna think about finding a new job."

"But?"

"But I believe in this. It's important. We stop bad things. We help people."

"What about… settling down? You know… a family?"

Dean chuckled, groping for his coffee mug. "Can you even imagine how messed up my kids would be? Bigger freaks 'n us."

"No, man. I don't think so."

The elder pinched the bridge of his nose hard. "Doesn't matter."

"Why not?"

"Picket fence, nine to five office job, yappy poodle… I'd lose it within three months and blow my brains out all over the bay window."

Sam smirked, "That's graphic."

"Technicolor and everything."

Sam grinned, rolling his eyes. He winced sympathetically as a grimace came across his brother's countenance, Dean pressing clenched fists to his forehead.

"Dean…"

"I'm fine," he spat. "Leave me alone!"

Sighing, Sam rose to his feet, moving to rummage through his duffel bag. Retrieving the bottle of aspirin, he screwed it open – he'd watched Dean try to get the child-proof cap off with his shaking hands earlier that day and wouldn't put his brother through that again – and set it beside the elder's elbow.

Releasing his breath, Dean grabbed at the bottle, shaking out a handful.

"No," the younger caught his brother's wrist. "Just two."

The elder lifted his eyes setting Sam with a glare most would have backed away from.

"Two," he insisted, pouring the rest back into the bottle. "Two more after you eat."

"What are you? My sitter?"

"When the occasion calls for it." Sam smirked briefly. "Look, man, if you eat, it'll probably help settle your stomach. All you've got in there is coffee and aspirin."

"You know, Sam, sometimes I really despise you."

"I know," the younger grinned. "Now eat, before I cram it down your throat."

"There's care and concern."

"Damn right."


	5. Chapter 5

Altitude  
Chapter Five

Author's Note: As of now, this is the final chapter of 'Altitude.' But then… the last few chapters were all inspired by suggestions in reviews, so who knows. Thank you all for your responses. Please do drop a note: good, bad or ugly. And drive safe; winter's here.

_SAM  
_

He's finally sleeping. I was really starting to worry for a while there – every time the headache calmed enough to no longer keep him awake, he was so bloody restless he couldn't lie still for more than ten minutes.

Maybe we've hit that turning point. He drifted off in the passenger seat almost half an hour ago and hasn't stirred since. I think the fact that we're moving again helps; that they finally got the road cleared and we could get out of that little town and back on track of the job we decided to look into nearly a week ago.

He looks way better than he has these last few days. His hands are stuffed in his pockets, and I know they're still trembling slightly – though just slightly. He didn't complain of a headache this morning – that doesn't necessarily mean it's gone, but if it's abated to the point where Dean can endure silently, as is his want… well, that's something, at least.

It doesn't seem fair somehow. I stir up all this shit, end up feeling better than I have in some months and to thank the brother that helped me, I leave him suffering and miserable.

But I _was_ right getting him to chuck those damned pills (and if they made nicotine patches for Winchester-brand drugs, I'd have bought them for him by the case.)

And I was right to tell him about Jess… I should have told him a long time ago.

'_You couldn't have done anything, Sam.'_

Dean's not the sort to say something just to make someone feel better – not even me. He says what he means and what he believes.

And I – I sigh, easing through an icy corner – I believed him.

Sure, I'm still having the nightmares… But they're coming later in the night; they're not so vivid. Maybe, just maybe, they're fading…

Maybe my big brother can still fix anything. It's a childish notion, but I kind of believe it too.

Ah hell – I laugh at myself – how could I not? He's been there for me for absolutely everything since before I can remember. He's teased me, given me a hard time and embarrassed the hell out of me, but he's never let me down.

Never. Now there's a sobering thought.

I've let him down. I left… regardless of if he understood my reasons in the end. Everything he did to himself because I left is my fault too.

I doubt very much if he'll ever tell me exactly what that consisted of… Hell, it was only due to the migraine that he said anything at all.

I owe him big. But it's not like I can just give him a bear hug and sing, "Thanks for everything, big brother!" Yeah… He'd _love_ that. Maybe I can offer to do the shovel work next time – it's not enough, but it's something.

I hit the brakes, working through a nasty ninety degree bend. This road is fucked up; but Dean's Chevy doesn't miss a beat.

She really is a beautiful car. I love driving her. Not that I'll tell my brother – his ego's swollen enough.

I a cast a quick glance at Dean, grinning despite myself. This whole 'checking up on each other' thing must be contagious.

It's been a rough and strange few days. Dean doesn't get taken care of – not that I mind doing it; it just doesn't happen. Even when he gets injured, he tends to just patch himself up, brush himself off and move on. He was like that with Dad too.

You get used to it. But these last few days… I've come to realize just how much I need my brother, how much I depend on him.

Maybe it's because I got used to depending on him when I was a kid or because he's got eight years experience on me in this 'line of work' – he's seen more than me; knows more than me. Maybe it's because he can still pin me eight times out of ten – I might be taller than him, but he's heavier and, though I _hate_ to admit it, stronger; always has been, probably always will be. And maybe that should irk me more than it does, but when some demon is trying to drag you away and the only thing stopping it, is your brother's grip on your wrists, the last thing you want is for him to be some featherweight.

Hell… Maybe what should be bothering me is my apparent lack of independence. Dean could do this on his own if he had to. I couldn't. I need him.

But that doesn't bother me very much either. Dean's my big brother. I'm _supposed_ to rely on him. And I know he'll never abandon me; never leave me to face something I can't handle. I know he'll be there for me when I need him.

No matter what the road leads to.

ooo0ooo

_DEAN  
_

He thinks I'm sleeping. That's fine; I'm getting real tired of that worried look he's had on his face these past few days. Sammy's not supposed to worry about me. I hate this; I'd rather I was shot again – at least _that_ I know how to handle.

I feel like shit. At least it's gotten to the point where I'm not snapping at him all the time for no reason. And the headache's faded to where – though it's still keeping me awake – I no longer feel the undeniable urge to rip my brain out to end the pain.

Sammy doesn't need to know that, though. It's bad enough my damn hands are still shaking – it's pretty tough to convince someone you're fine when you can't hold a spoon steady.

It's probably for the best that the road's been closed. What the hell good would I have been on a job? I couldn't have held a knife; I sure as piss couldn't have aimed a gun.

I should be all right now… so long as I don't have to make a precision shot over a distance, but how often does that come about?

I feel the car swing easily through a corner, Sammy giving a little sigh. The roads are bad; I hate that he's stuck having to manage them… but I'd kill us. I'm sure he can handle it – he's been driving since he was thirteen, same as me. (Dad taught us as soon as we could reach the pedals – you just never know when you'll need another get away driver.) Besides, the traffic should let up once we pass the turn for the ski hill.

Sammy looked great this morning – rested and less unhappy than I've seen him in far too long. I'd almost forgotten what he looked like without dark circles beneath his eyes.

I can't believe he felt so guilty over something so completely beyond his control.

But if he's sleeping better – if he's carrying less of a weight – than it's worth the shaking hands, the aches, the nausea and ripping my skull apart to still the migraine. Hell, if he sleeps just one hour longer without nightmares, it's worth all this.

I just wish the little prick'd hand over the aspirin.

He hits the brakes, edging through a vicious bend. What the hell kind of idiot designed this road, anyway? When this job's done, I'm taking Sammy to California – hell, maybe Mexico – to get some sun. And some rum. And some girls in string bikinis.

He glances over, checking on me. Fuck, I wish he wouldn't do that. If anything _I_ should be checking on _him_. It is _not_ supposed to be the other way around.

Sure, Dad'd check up on me if I got banged around especially bad, but he's my dad. Sammy, on the other hand, is my little brother. Period.

I bite my tongue. I'm going to find Dad. And he's going to shit himself when he sees both of us together. He'll shit himself when he gets to see Sammy without having to spot him across the campus lawn.

Those times we swung by Stanford were hard. When we were hunting, I had to be focused; had to keep my head fixed on the job or end up dead. But when we were sitting there, watching Sammy from a distance, I realized how much I missed him.

It's good to be with him again; to be hunting with him again. It's completely different than hunting with Dad. Which was completely different from the three of us hunting together. And _that_ is something I am really looking forward to doing again.

Dad and Sammy'll be at each other's throats, and I'll try and patch things up between them. Then when it's just Dad and me, he'll tell me Sammy needs to get his head in the game or he'll get us into trouble. And when it's just me and Sammy, he'll tell me Dad's being unreasonable.

And I'll laugh, because I know how much they mean to each other.

I want to find Dad – hell, we both do. But until we do – and after – I've got my little brother. Which is infinitely better than just a cold highway full of monsters.

And the road isn't as lonely as it might have been.


End file.
